Religion

Typically, resolution-making is both the aim and onset of each new year. Even more typically, both aim and onset have already grown old, weary and have succumbed to procrastination by now. And … we are already in the midst of Lent when resolve is ready to be bolstered. This is a mighty combination that cannot be easily ignored or dismissed without consequences. Perhaps my words are strong because my admission of guilty inactivity is painful.

When Lent arrives in the throes of springtime, I have a hard time with its accompanying theme of passionate suffering. New life sprouts around me, especially in the southern climes where warmth leaves late and returns early to soothe arthritic bones. The paradox of pain in the midst of rising spirits is a hard pill to swallow. I want to concentrate on the green leaves peeping out from their cold dirt hibernation, forget winter and enjoy springtime’s slide into summer. Lent has no place in those plans. Yet, here it is.

From the time I was a little girl, I have been intrigued with the multiple ways one can learn. Long ago, I read “Maida’s Little School,” a wonderful tale of innovative, intentional, experiential learning. The book described a learning process totally foreign to the educational system of the day. Likely, it remains known but rarely implemented today. There are efforts in the Montessori schools and probably other private places, but the vast majority of educational sites appear to be more deliberately institutional than they are daringly experiential.

“Good morning!” Those were the lovely words I heard as Hubby Dear came into the kitchen. Mr. Cheeriness is he whose awakened eyes are twinned with his lips, causing both to be operative simultaneously. My response, offered politely and sometimes even gently, yet lacked his exuberance.

The Jan. 6 feast of the Epiphany looms large in some denominations and in many countries. This is the designated time for gift exchanges, in the manner of the Magi who traveled afar to meet, greet, and gift the Christ Child with their presence, homage, and love. In a manner far different from the commercial hustle and bustle of Christmas buying, these are the gifts of the gold of our lives, the incense of compassion, and the myrrh of suffering. They are the gifts of relationship.

I just read an article that both delighted me and gave me pause. It called me to contemplate my winter angst. It asked for a rethinking of the statement I offer to explain away any perceived iciness or discontent. I tell everyone: “I give myself one season of discontent and that is winter!” Summer’s heat must be borne as gift. Its humidity now becomes moisture for the spirit. All is well in summertime because Winter is declared the season of my discontent!

Numbers make the news! In every form of media, numbers define comedy or tragedy, fantasy or reality. Crowds fascinate us. The count of attendees marks success or failure. Grades denote intelligence. It’s all around us, infecting and affecting our perceptions. We say one person can make a difference, yet we take notice of hundreds or thousands, few or many. True, we say “the more, the merrier” as we greet unexpected guests. In the welcome, do we do intend another meaning: “the fewer, the sadder.”

It’s Advent. Actually, we are already nearing the third week of Advent and past the midway point. Many Christian denominations set aside this month of Sundays as time and opportunity for probing questions to arise and emerge. There is a sense of expectancy suffusing this season. Jingling bells and jangling nerves cannot deny, define or describe it. Unfortunately, they can serve to diffuse it and offer distractions.